Holt the Sugar
by RSteele82
Summary: (AU Series) Takes place during and after Season 4's Coffee, Tea or Steele. A reader challenge/invitation. This story was written using several reader's ideas. After the closeness they'd achieved during the Shane case, there is a sudden disconnect. How do they regain their footing?
1. Chapter 1: Disconnect

**_The Alternative Universe Series_**

 ** _Toss the Twilight Zone experience of Season 5 into the proverbial trash can. These stories pick up after Steele of Approval. While Approval still exists, more importantly these stories look at season 4 as most of the viewers saw it - Laura and Remington had crossed that line, imbuing that Season with the "Mr & Mrs Steele" feeling that most experienced. _**

**_To get the most out of my stories, I recommend reading them in the following order:_**

 **Steele Forsaken (Part 1 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)** **  
 **Steele Mending (Part 2 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)**  
 **A Holt New Beginning (Part 3 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series; Takes place during and after Steele Searching)**  
 **Holt the Presses (Takes place during and after Steele Blushing)**  
 **The Holt Truth (Takes place during and after Forged Steele)**  
 **You've Gotta Know When to Holt 'Em (Takes place during Premium Steele)  
Holt the Sugar (Takes place during and after Coffee, Tea or Steele)****

 ** _As usual, I do not own the characters. I simply borrow them._**

* * *

 _A/N: I challenged readers to make suggestions on what they would have liked to seen in this episode with only three rules: 1) It had to honor canon; 2) it had to fit with the AU series to date; and 3) it had to work with where my thoughts on this story were already heading. I would then take the best suggestion and give it life._

 _It's actually been great fun and I managed to take several ideas from readers and weave them into the tale._

 _I tip my hat to LizzieGatz, SteeleRSFan4ever (I used an inference of your great suggestion to close out the story), Guest #3 (with whom I fully agree on the point about 'Bifferino'), Guest #5 (well the bathroom and the drink are involved), and Guest #6 (the disconnect is certainly addressed, albeit differently.)_

 _I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 1: Disconnect

Laura strode briskly through the doors of the Agency on Tuesday morning, mulling the case she and Mr. Steele were about to undertake. Platinum Airlines catered only to the most affluential of clientele, an assessment of each customer's assets the only qualification for booking a seat. If they could solve this case, the Agency would receive not only a good deal of publicity but the Remington Steele Agency would always be lurking in the back of the minds of those same rich and famous. _The key will be wrapping the case up expediently and privately_ , she thought to herself.

So caught up in her thoughts, was she, that she failed to realize Mildred was aggressively opening the morning's mail delivery, a frown crevicing her face.

"Good morning, Mildred. Let me know when Mr. Steele arrives," she instructed as she walked past her desk towards her office, without so much as a glance in Mildred's direction.

"He's arrived," their trusted secretary informed her brusquely. _That_ made Laura stop in her tracks. _This early?!_ was her stunned thought. Turning to face Mildred, she didn't even bother to conceal her surprise.

"This early?" she asked, voicing those thoughts aloud.

"He's hiring," Mildred informed her, with no little sarcasm. Laura's eyes widened, before she leveled a suspicious look on the closed office door of the man himself.

"Hiring?" she sought to clarify, redirecting her attention to Mildred.

"One of his students," Mildred provided, clearly displeased. Laura gave her head a quick shake, then leveled a perplexed look upon the major domo.

"What students?"

"From USC," Mildred answered, clearly taking a bit of enjoyment at busting out the boss. "He's been guest lecturing," she continued with a derisive little laugh, before pointing to her temple with a pencil. " _Introduction to the Criminal Mind_."

"Well, he should know," Laura commented, dryly, clearly a bit miffed by the news. "Time to give the professor a little pop quiz." Crossing the reception area, she swung open Remington's door, then took in the scene before her. Remington laying propped up by an elbow on his couch, ankles crossed, more than a bit of imperiousness in the pose.

"Although it takes years to develop the imagination of a master sleuth," he told the spectacled young man which harkened images of Howdy Doody to Laura's mind. "To hone the instincts to a razor-sharp sensitivity, to-" She surveyed the scene with annoyance, before rolling her eyes at his grandiose behavior. Clearing her throat, she stopped his 'instruction' in its tracks.

"Ah, Miss Holt. Come in! Come in! Please. Yes, yes. I'd like you to meet Marvin T. Slottman, Jr," Remington introduced the young man while slinging an arm around his soldiers, still wonderfully oblivious to his partner's annoyance.

"What a pleasant _surprise_ ," she acknowledged the young man, her tone far too sweet, her smile far too wide, as she shook his hand.

"Yes, indeed. Marvin has come on board as our intern. Our detective in the making. Ours to… ours to shape, ours to mold," he continued to forge on.

"I can't tell you what an honor it is to be working for Mr. Steele," Marvin oozed, as Remington held up a hand in feigned modesty.

"I've always found it a challenge to find the right words. May I…" she zeroed in on Remington with widened eyes sparking with irritation "…see you in my office…" she pointed towards her office with her purse and a sharp nod of her head,"… Mr. Steele?" Remington's smile faltered then faded.

"Yes," he said, with a small grimace. "Certainly. Probably a crime solving case that demands my immediate attention, Marvin," he informed the intern as the realization he was in hot water fully sunk in. "Please, enjoy the photographs, will you?" Waving an arm towards the wall, he frowned as he walked into Laura's office and she closed the door behind the two of them. He prepared himself for an explosion.

"You've been lecturing at USC _without_ telling me?" she asked, raising her brows, mouth tight. On the defensive now, he acted as though the incident was insignificant.

"Oh, just one or two special appearances, Laura. I didn't think you needed to be bothered."

"And- now what are you doing?" she wanted to know, pointing towards his office and the young man waiting there.

"Oh, merely easing the burden of an unwieldy caseload," he soothed, resorting to charm, which would have been far more effective had he not briefly flashed a smile which clearly said ' _I hope you're buying this.'_ She wasn't buying what he was attempting to sell. A knock on the door which they stood in front of provided him a temporary reprieve.

"Yes?" he called. Marvin swung open the door and leaned partially inside the office.

"Excuse me, sir, may I ask you a question?"

"You see? Eager to _learn_ ," he pointed out to Laura, who remain unimpressed. "Fire away, my boy."

"Was that heavy, or medium starch on those collars?" Laura looked away with disdain, while taking a deep breath, trying to control her anger.

"Uh, we'll- uh, we'll clarify that later, Marvin. Thank you very much. Good boy." Remington wisely shooed the young man from the office and pulled closed the door… then held his breath, looking down at Laura, preparing for her to take his head off.

"Unwieldy caseload?" she bit out.

"Well," he grimaced, knowing full well he'd been caught, "there are some ancillary responsibilities I had in mind for the lad," he confessed. Glancing at her watch, she set aside the topic for now. The case called.

"We've gotta fly. We will discuss this later," she informed him, jaw tight in anger.

"Laura, can I just point out-" She waved a sharp hand at him.

"Later," she told him dismissively. "We've got a case," she snarled.

Remington's own temper flared at her high-handedness and he raised a brow at her departing back, jaw twitching but followed in her wake regardless

* * *

While driving to LAX and the Platinum Air private baggage claim area where the body had been discovered the day prior, Laura filled Remington in on the details of the case. The conversation between them had been strictly business although both of them simmered in their annoyance with the other. This was not new territory for them: set aside personal feelings for a case… or until they relegated their unhappiness with one another to the "easier to pretend it hadn't happened" file in their heads. Avoidance. Both talented at it, both understanding if they wanted to move ahead it was a habit which had to be broken. Both still far too often falling into that rut.

The drive from LAX to Laura's loft to pick up what she'd need for the trip ahead, and then to Remington's apartment to do the same, was thick with silence as both stayed lost in their thoughts.

Laura leaned her head into a hand propped by elbow to door, wallowing in her humiliation at Ace Ketchum's hands. The experience had been as mortifying as suddenly finding her face superimposed upon the completely unclad centerfold of Bedside Babes, maybe even more so. The man had refused to acknowledge her, keeping his back to her during the entirety of their meeting, directing answers to _her_ questions to Remington, as though she wasn't even in the room. At one point, he'd even looked over his shoulder, clearly questioning if she should even be part of the meeting at all given the need for absolute discretion. It had been out of nothing but a peevish desire to make him acknowledge her existence, that she'd grabbed his hand and shook it at the conclusion of the meeting. He, of course, hadn't offered it. She'd _taken_ it.

As for Mr. Steele? He'd been oblivious to it all, not noting her discomfort, _her mortification_ , as she'd shifted from foot-to-foot while staring at Ketchum's back. Him! Her partner. He who knew better than anyone that it was that very behavior she'd been battling against her entire life.

* * *

 ** _"Man is seen as many things. Doer, thinker. Woman? Bottom line? Flesh. Nobody told you what to be when you grew up. You're a man. You smoke cigars. They used to come by the office in droves. 'Steal away with me, Laura.' 'How's Palm Springs sound, Laura?' But handle a case? 'Better let Mr. Steele do that, Laura.'"_**

* * *

It wasn't as though she'd expected Remington to say anything. The man was a client and would bring in a heavy fee to the Agency once they'd solved the case. Was it too much to ask that he'd noticed what was happening under his nose? To see and send her a sign of commiseration? He was her partner, her friend, her lo-… she forced her mind to quiet before it said _that_ word… the man she shared a bed with on a regular basis these days. She blinked her eyes rapidly at the telltale tingling behind them. Oh, no, she wouldn't let Ketchum… _or Remington_ … to reduce her to _that_.

Remington sat with his arms tightly crossed over his body while staring out the passenger door of the Rabbit. Contrary to Laura's belief, he'd taken note of Ketchum's misogynistic behavior… and had perversely _enjoyed_ it. A little dose, he'd seen it, of how she often resorted to treating _him._ Partners, true partners. That's what they'd agreed upon. But was that what they were? Absolutely not! Not a thing had changed since that day a little over a year before when they fought throughout the streets of Cannes.

* * *

 ** _"I'm not an equal. I'm more like an errant schoolboy who needs your guiding hand."_**

* * *

Partners? Equals? Like bloody hell. How could she, who was so concerned with being seen as equal to men… which, in his estimation, there was absolutely no comparison, she was far more competent, more intelligent than most of the so called stronger gender… How could she _not_ understand the very things she fought against, she, at times, subjected him to. The dismissiveness, the expectations of unquestioning obedience, the demand he seek permission before he do virtually anything as Remington Steele? Why was it so bloody important to her that he never be allowed to be quite _her_ equal?

Thus, his peevishness continued, once they boarded the plane, assuming their respective roles.

"Oh, Miss?" Remington called from behind his paper when Laura, undercover as a stewardess, walked past with a pot of coffee. Sighing, her eyes and lips narrowed, but she turned and approached him.

"A touch more coffee, if you please?" he grinned at her, enjoying the moment far more than he should.

"I hope you're enjoying this," she muttered, clearly annoyed with him. His eyes wandered her stockinged, shapely legs bared well above the knee by the short skirt, envisioning those legs wrapped around his hips as they moved, their two bodies joined as… He gave his head a mental shake. _Those_ memories would do him no good at the moment.

"Oh, come now, Laura. We all have our place. You don't expect me to prance around in a little tutu like that, now, do you?" he inquired, perversely pushing his luck. She glared at him from under her lashes, while he pretended not to notice. "Thank you." Resisting the urge to pour the hot coffee in his lap, she straightened up and walked away, stiff with fury.

"With scenery like that, who needs a window seat, huh?" asked a thirty-ish businessman and broker, Barry Holden, commented while watching Laura's slim form disappear into the kitchen. Remington gave a wolfish laugh that accompanied like grin, while thinking, _who indeed? Look all you want mate, but hands off, she's mine. From the looks of you, you couldn't handle her anyway._ "I could use another club soda."

"Oh, allow me," volunteered Remington, flipping the switch to call Laura back to the table with a little too much glee. Laura returned to the table, coffee pot in hand, playing the friendly stewardess once more.

"You buzzed, sir?"

"My companion appears to have run dry."

"I'll take care of it right away," Laura answered, voice treacly and smiling graciously.

"Thank you," the other man says. Taking his glass from him, Laura hadn't taken three steps away from her before Remington called for her.

"Oh, miss?" Back stiffening and biting her tongue, she returned to stand before him.

"You bellowed, sir?" A slip, granted, certainly not part of her role, but a woman can only take so much, right?

"My pillow," Remington directed, indicating with a spoon the pillow behind his back while smiling smugly.

"Yes." It was the only word that could pass her lips that wouldn't blow their cover. Setting the coffee pot on the bar, she pulled the pillow from behind his back, and pounded it several times. Remington's smile faltered, realizing he may have just pushed her too far. Dropping the pillow behind his back, she sauntered away, taking refuge in the galley before she throttled him.

* * *

Laura hung up the phone in her hotel room, confused by the rather bizarre phone all she'd just had with Mildred and its abrupt end.

"I guess we got cut off," she muttered, as much to herself as to Remington as she lay down on the bed and stretched out facing him. Before the phone had interrupted, he shown a marked fascination for the uniform she was wearing, releasing the single button on the blazer and taking a peek beneath. He'd made no secret about the fact romance was on his mind, and throughout their call had made himself comfortable on the bed in preparation for when she turned her full attention to him.

"Now, what is a big league hit man doing on the baggage carousel of Platinum Air?" she asked, her mind clearly on the case. Shifting slightly, he wrapped his arms around her.

"Not much, I presume," he answered, clearly having decided to allow 'grey matter' to rest for the evening in pursuit of more worthy causes. "Laura, I'm much too weak to move tonight. Perhaps I'll just, uh, pitch my tent here, hm?" His hand slid up her back and pressed against the back of her neck, drawing her lips to his for a taste.

"Recharge your batteries, so to speak?" she asked, when the brief kiss ended, raising her brows and looking down at him. He hummed his agreement then drew her head back down to his. Their lips met and lingered far too shortly for his liking. He covered her lips with his again, while his hand began loosening his tie. "I'm sorry, Mr. Steele," she told him softly, willingly leaning in for another brief kiss. "Company policy, remember? You wouldn't want me to lose my job," she reminded him, shaking her head at him as she spoke, a hint that there was only one answer he could give. She touched her lips to his one last time, before sliding out of his grasp and rising from the bed, as a disappointed and bewildered Remington was assisted up and off the bed by a hand to his back, only to be directed straight to the door.

"Wish I weren't so damned dedicated," he informed her, clearly disgruntled by the change of circumstance.

"Sweet dreams," she answered, raising her hand and waggling her fingers at him as he turned to leave.

"Mmmmm," he hummed, his displeasure clear.

Closing the door behind him, Laura allowed herself a small smile. It had given her a bit of satisfaction, turning him away, after how he'd acted all day. That satisfaction didn't last long, as after showering and climbing into bed, her thoughts turned to Remington. She longed to feel his flesh against her cheek, under her arm, her fingertips, her leg, as his warm body lay partially beneath hers while she fell asleep. She could feel those long, tapered fingers stroking her arm, playing with her hair as the early stages of sleep descended. That her fondest desire could happen so easily – a phone call to his room, an elevator ride up eight stories – made it all the worse.

She shook her head, and stared at the ceiling as though the answers were written there. She wanted to go to him, but there were too many reasons she couldn't… shouldn't. This was business, and paragraph 15, section 8, strictly forbade staff from imbibing in 'layovers'. She couldn't very well risk getting fired from the job in the middle of the case, could she? She snorted softly. _As if I have any intention of reprising this particular role once we get back to LA,_ she admitted to herself. No, she'd had more than enough of the pinching, cupping, smacking, leering, pawing…

It also wasn't as though that particular paragraph and section of the employee handbook was truly feared by staff. Wanda, after all, was intimately involved with that broker, Barry Holden. Lorraine would happily toss aside the rulebook to get _her_ Mr. Steele… errr, 'Trevor Keach'… between silken sheets. She idly wondered if that same employee handbook contained a provision making relationships between employees a no-no as well. If so, then Sally and Biff the Creep certainly flaunted that particular rule.

Truth be told, it wasn't the case or even the handbook holding her back. It was a mixture of anger and confusion. Anger that he'd taken so much pleasure out of her subservient position on the plane, enjoying that when he snapped his fingers, she'd have no choice but to jump. Frustration that he'd failed to note Ketchum's relegating her to the level of insignificant. Irritation over discovering he'd not only failed to disclose his guest lecturing at USC, but then had topped even that by bringing on an intern without consulting her. The reason for _that_ particular action was no mystery: she knew she'd reject the idea straight out. She blew out a frustrated breath. She'd promised him they'd be discussing USC and Marvin T. Slottman, Jr, and it wasn't a discussion she was particularly looking forward to. So, relying on old habits they both devised over years of working together, she set the thought of that chat aside… for now.

Remington's unhidden admiration of her toned legs hadn't bothered in the least. Actually, she'd found it flattering, finding a definite satisfaction in the way he regularly admired her form. She'd seen the heat rise in his eyes, knew his vivid imagination had been set loose, and she'd walked away bemused by the fact he'd be the one sitting in the chair dealing with his physical reaction to his mind's musings. His obvious annoyance at finding Biff leaving her room hadn't raised her hackles either. No, 'Boff', leaving her room, she laughed to herself now. A brand of car wax? Only him.

What bothered Laura the most about the day's events, the main reason for her turning him away, was this feeling of… disconnect… between the two of them. Had it really only been less than a week ago when they'd completely let down their walls, laying themselves bare and vulnerable before the other? That night, and the day and weekend which had followed, had been overflowing with an intimacy they'd never dared risk with one another before. When she'd gone home on Sunday evening, both had been unable to conceal their regret at their parting.

So, what had happened over the last two days that he was back to playing his damned games? Frustration rolled over her, and she sat up, beating against her pillow under the guise of giving it a bit more shape, before she flopped backward again, staring once more at the ceiling above her, her arms crossed in vexation.

God, she wanted him. Wanted to feel his flesh pressed against hers. Wanted to feel his graceful hands caressing her body. Wanted to feel his lips over hers. Wanted to taste him. Wanted to feel him buried so deep inside of her, that she couldn't quite figure out where he ended and she began. Wanted to feel his warm breath tickling her neck as they slept, his arms wrapped around her, holding her firmly against his form.

With a growl of frustration, she flung her arm over her eyes and turned her attention to willing her body to sleep.

Laura might have been comforted to know, she wasn't alone in contemplating the ceiling above her. Eight stories above, ensconced in a suite befitting the role he was currently playing, Remington's eyes, too, were focused on the plaster overhead. He scrubbed at his face with both hands, the half dozenth time he'd done so in the last hour, as he resisted the impulse to climb from bed, sling on his robe, and hop on the elevator to descend eight floors and find out if she'd perhaps changed her stance on him staying the night with her. But, he knew it was of no use. Laura Holt was nothing if not hard-headed. There'd be no swaying her from her course.

Which is why he'd never brought up the subject of the young Marvin T. Slottman, Jr., with her. There would have been no discussion, no give and take, just a motion with her hands indicating the conversation was done and they'd do whatever it was she commanded. He hadn't lectured at USC in near on a month now. Had forgotten, in truth, that he'd agreed to taken the lad on as an intern. He wasn't quite certain why he'd agreed to lecture, although it was likely a bit of peevishness on his part, if he had to hazard a guess.

He'd been approached right after the Crunch Kramer case, when he'd still been stinging from Laura's overriding his decision not to take that particular case, and Mildred's obvious delight that she'd gotten the hand up on him. Two evenings was all it was to have been, and certainly it could only enhance the image of Remington Steele, right? Surely, this qualified as a decision a so-called _equal_ partner was entitled to make, right? Those were his thoughts at the time he'd accepted the speaking engagements. As for young Slottman? Well, how could he say no to the poor little nebbish? A want-to-be investigator whom no one would give a shot. It had seemed a very magnanimous gesture in his mind, setting aside the part, of course, that there would benefits for himself as well: someone to fawn all over him as Mildred once had. Truth be told, he missed it. Missed being seen by another person as being able to do no wrong. It rather nicely balanced out rarely being able to do right in Miss Holt's eyes. And in recent months Mildred's. Still, he'd been so caught up these last weeks in their cases… and, even more so, in Laura… that he _had_ forgotten until the phone call the day prior.

Which, by-the-by, was not a confession he'd be making any time soon. _Laura, I might well have bodged this a bit as my mind's been on you._ _Hmmm, a sure way, indeed, to hear another round of 'maybe we need to take some time.'_ Besides, even if he were to admit to a little bit of forgetfulness, she'd still nail him to the wall for his other, less altruistic reasons. Maybe even rightfully so. But that would require more thought than he was able to devote to the idea, his mind already moving on to Laura lying in one of those beds alone, when he damn well should be sharing it with her.

Good god, four straight evenings hadn't been enough with her and while he'd relished the extra days with her, it'd just made watching her leave that much harder. He'd wanted to grab her by the hand, pull her back in the door, to lock it soundly after. Instead, he'd been only able to steal a couple sweet kisses from her lips before she turned and walk away.

Something had changed between them that night at the Downtowner Motel. They'd shared themselves with one another in a way they'd never dared to risk before. After that night, she held his heart firmly in the palm of her hand, it was hers to do with as she would. Unable to say the words he might still be, but he was irrevocably hers, if only she'd have him. It was a place he'd once swore he'd never again find himself, that place where he lived in heart and mind for much of his early childhood: You finally have me, all of me, treat me kind, find me not wanting, _love me_ … only to be disposed of again.

Perhaps that accounted for why her imperiousness had rankled even more than it normally would. In that one moment of dismissiveness, of evoking her authority over him, he'd felt as though they'd not perceived the events at the hotel in the same way… in fact, had felt as though they'd suddenly warped backwards three years in time.

He rubbed his face with his hands again, turning to his side to stare at the clock instead.

He ached for her, that was the long and short of it. And not just a certain impertinent part of his body which had refused to settle down since their hopeful tete-a-tete on her bed below. He wanted her petite frame tucked into the curve of his body. Wanted their joined hands resting between her breasts. Wanted the smell of honeysuckle and fresh grass filling his senses. Wanted to feel her soft breath against his skin. Bloody hell, he wanted to be roused from sleep to fish a strand of wayward hair from his mouth.

Closing his eyes, he willed himself to forget all he wanted and to accept what he'd gotten instead: a cold, lonely bed in which, he wagered, little sleep would be found.


	2. Chapter 2: Applying for Membership

_**A/N: This chapter contains NC-17 content. If uncomfortable with such situations or under age 18, please continue to Chapter 3.**_

* * *

Chapter 2: Applying for Membership

The day had gotten off to a lousy start. With too little sleep, unscratched itches and facing another flight during which she'd be fondled, pinched and groped, Laura's fuse was short and her temper threatened to boil over at the least little thing. Remington had fared little better in the sleep department, she assumed, for he'd been veering between querulous and snippy since they'd met up before departing for the airport. The makings of a good day it was not.

And, the day, it appeared, was destined to only go downhill if Biff's appearance in the galley was any indication.

"Laura's been a naughty girl," he oozed, while looking down at her through sunglasses he wore to hide the shiner given to him by Sally the evening before. Stopping short, she dropped her shoulders and blinked hard at his audacity.

"Has anyone ever told you you're incredibly obnoxious?" Laura demanded to know, while attempting to pass him. He stepped into her path, effectively trapping her in the room with him.

"Careful, sweet cheeks," he warned. "Better be nice to the old Bifferino," he continued, reaching out to fondle her hair, "Or I might spill the beans."

"What beans?" Laura asked, even as a chill slithered down her spine at his touch.

"Breaking training. Passenger in your room." _Blackmail?! Of all the…_

"Put a sock in it, Boff," she told him defiantly, edging her way around him and out of the room.

And, as predicted, the morning had rapidly gone downward from there.

Any number of hands copping a feel here, giving her a pinch here, topped off by a threat from Sally.

"Laura, stay away from Biff. Or somebody might just clip your wings." _I've had just about enough!_

Utterly exasperated, she picked up her tray of drinks and entered the cabin, just in time for another chauvinistic pig to pinch her bottom, making her hop and gasp. Remington took note with a pair of raised brows, then quickly shifted his gaze back to his magazine as she approached his side.

"Your club soda, sir," she announced loudly enough for others to hear.

"Thank you," he answered in kind, accepting the glass from her.

"Anything to report back here?" she asked, leaning into him.

"The salmon's a trifle salty," he answered peevishly, pretending to peruse the magazine in his hand to avoid looking at her. Laura frowned, resisting the urge to grind her teeth.

"Anything else?" she bit out, as he continued to turn the pages.

"Freddy appears to have an alibi. I bet McBride's our man." Taking a sip of his club soda as a passenger passes by, he gave a disgruntled grunt. "Miss! This is a lime! I wanted a lemon!" he postured, voice raised and handing the glass back to her. She glanced around the cabin to see if anyone was watching, what was left of her patience evaporating.

"But you asked for a lime, sir," she told him, loud enough to be overheard, but considerably lower than him.

"Yes. But now I want a _lemon_!" he insisted loudly.

"Aren't you carrying this a little too far?" Laura demanded through clenched lips.

"Oh, just thinking of our cover, Laura," he grinned, clearly pleased with his antics. Well, in her eyes, he'd finally taken things too far. _He wants to play? Well, he should know by now, I can give as good as I get! A_ fter a quick glance around the cabin, she 'accidentally' spilled the entirety of the club soda in his lap.

"Oh!" she cried out, feigning embarrassment. "I'm terribly sorry. How _clumsy_ of me, sir. Here, let me get you a napkin," she offered, dabbing at his leg, then intentionally swiping at a particularly sensitive area of his lap before dropping the soggy napkin in it. His temper flared and with a clenched jaw, watch her saunter away.

After delivering the glasses of Rose still on her tray to the waiting passengers, she took refuge in the galley, where she paced, fisting and unfisting her hands. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, before her feet stilled and she lifted both hands to press fingertips to brow. _This is_ _ridiculous_ , she shouted in her head _._ They needed to hash things out with each other. He'd been simmering and stewing since that conversation in her office yesterday, as had she. But there was no way for them to have it out here and now, as it was nearly guaranteed there would be many a raised voice throughout.

The fact they'd both gone to bed… frustrated… _and woke that way,_ she admitted, was only making matters worse. She was regretting her decision to hustle him out the night before even more now than she had then. Biff was strong arming her, Sally threatening her and Lorraine? Well, that one was hoping for an opportunity to entice Remington into joining the mile-high club. She dropped her hands from her brows as a thought took hold. _We might not be able to have the blistering fight we need to clear the air, but we can certainly put an end to some of our frustration,_ she thought, a bit of the old Laura peeking out.

Grabbing the stack of napkins she'd promised him, she scrawled a note on the top one. Quickly preparing a club soda on the rocks with _lemon_ she dropped it on her tray and strolled out of the galley. She took some satisfaction in the way his eyes narrowed as they followed her approach, trying to anticipate if another soaking was about to be 'accidentally' delivered.

"Your club soda, sir," she announced demurely, setting it on the table before him, "As well as the napkins I promised." With not so much as another word, she continued towards the back of the cabin. Brows raised, he watched her walk away, thoroughly perplexed.

That is, until he saw her handwriting on the napkin.

 _We need to caucus, immediately. Bathroom on the left._

His brow furrowed as he wondered what clue she'd tripped across in the last handful of minutes that would have her willing to risk blowing their covers.

"Oh, Miss," he called while holding up a finger as Wanda walked past.

"May I help you, sir?" the petite and slightly nervous blonde inquired.

"I've had a bit of an accident with my drink," he told her, indicating his wet lap. "Could you direct me to the restroom so I might clean up a bit?" Wanda graced him with a smile.

"Straight back to the rear of the cabin," she directed as he stood.

"Much appreciated," he thanked her, then walked in the direction she'd indicated. Without so much as a backwards glance, he slipped into the restroom Laura had specified, and closed the door behind him, securing the latch before turning around to face Laura.

"A bit snug for a luxury airline, don't you think?" Remington observed.

"I've been doing a little thinking about the… tension… between us, Mr. Steele," Laura began. His shoulders stiffened, feeling suddenly as though he were being ambushed. He hadn't even suspected she'd want to have it out, while in their respective roles and in the loo of all places.

"Do you really think, given the task at hand, that now's the time to air our dirty laundry, Miss Holt?" he asked defensively.

"Oh, I'm not referring to the talk we clearly need to have. I mean the obvious… frustration… we've both been feeling since last night." His brows furrowed as he tried to discern her meaning, when her impish smile gave him a strong clue.

"Are you suggesting we…" he made a waving motion with his hand, "…here?" He was clearly stunned by the suggestion. She took a step towards him, which was all the small room allowed, and reached for his tie, loosening it.

"Are you a card-holding member of the mile-high club?" she wondered aloud. Swallowing hard, still quite unable to believe what she was suggesting, he shook his head.

"Can't say I've ever cared to apply for membership in the past, although I might question, given your… proposal… if you may tout a card yourself." He watched as she drew his tie from around his neck and tossed it aside, only for her hand to return so her fingers could begin releasing the buttons of his shirt.

"Nope, first time applicant," she answered.

"Laura, far be it from me to ever attempt to suppress your…" he a bit nervously again, afraid he was about to bodge this, "…uninhibited side, but what happened to 'you don't want me to lose my job'?" he wondered, his pulse rate picking up speed with each button she released.

"As if I'll get on this meat wagon in the sky again. What's the worst that could happen? Ketchum is informed we were caught in the bathroom together?" she offered, as her hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to pull it out from under the waistband of his trousers. "We needed to discuss some clues we'd uncovered. The chauvinistic pig would probably just congratulate you, anyway."

"Are you—" With a frustrated huff of breath, her hands fell to her sides.

"We don't have much time before one of us is missed, Remington. If you don't want to –" Her words were cut off when his hands slipped into her hair and his mouth descended on hers, the kiss hungry, possessive from its inception. His free hand slipped between them, releasing the single button of her blazer, then he groaned into her mouth when her hands found the bare skin of his back and she lightly raked her nails downwards.

Tearing his lips away from hers, he carefully studied her face, wanting to make certain there would be no regrets. What he found was skinned flushed by excitement, eyes dazed with unconcealed desire, a chest heaving with rising passion, and the tip of a tongue darting out to taste where his lips had just covered hers. Taking it all in, he'd already accepted a quick shag in the loo was a foregone conclusion when a stealthy hand grazed his hip, before talented fingers grasped his rapidly hardening shaft with a firm grip. Brushing her hand aside, lest she make this quicker than it needed to be, his nimble fingers quickly unclasped the pin securing the scarf at her neck and dropped it upon the meager counter. In no time, his dexterous hands had relieved her of blouse and bra, and his lips had zeroed in on the sensitive peak of a breast. She moaned low in her throat, a sound echoed by him when her nails lightly scraped over his nipples.

"Laura," he gasped, around the small globe in his mouth.

She buried a hand in his hair, pressing his mouth more firmly to her breast even as her other hand began to work the buckle of his belt. As he shifted to suckle the hard tip of her other breast, he exhaled hard when she released his raging erection from his pants. The feeling of his breath blowing across the excruciatingly sensitive, moistened tip of her breast, had her hand clasping the base of his shaft harder than she intended, while obliterating what was left of her patience.

"Remington," she breathed her urgency against his ear, when he stood to seek the zipper of her skirt. She shook her head, almost violently. "No time," she whispered breathily.

Nodding his head, his hands skimmed over her cloth covered hips and outer thighs before grasping the hem of her skirt and pulling upwards, until it gathered at her waist. In no time, he divested her of her panties, as his eyed their surroundings.

"Not much room," he muttered quietly, before covering her lips with his again. She tore her mouth away.

"Think of something." Her voice was tight with unsated need, and with a nod, he grasped her waist, and sat her on the edge of the narrow counter, then pulled her slightly forward.

His lips claimed hers as their own again. Drifting a finger down her hot, wet, cleft he hummed his satisfaction at finding more than ready for him. Positioning himself at her entrance, he thrust firmly, burying himself in her warm, moist depths. His mouth swallowed her cry of pleasure at finding him filling her completely. He nibbled on her lips, as a hand found a plump breast to knead, withdrawing and pressing forward again, only when her legs wrapped around his hips. He'd only just begun to move within her, when her frustrated growl made it clear the position selected was not offering the friction she was craving.

"Put your arms around my neck, babe," he whispered against her lips.

When she did as requested, he carefully turned them, a nifty trick given the pants and briefs wrapped around his ankles, until her back pressed against the opposite wall. She hummed deep in her throat, when with a tilt of her hips, his movements stroked that most sensitive of places within her. Repositioning her legs so they lay against his hips, he braced the back of her knees over his arms, and planted flattened palms against the wall, providing the traction he needed. Thrusting his hips hard and fast, he drove his length in and out of her, taking them both quickly to the edge. His lips trailed along her collarbone, while one of her hands delved through his hair and the other caressed his back. He felt her muscles tightening around his shaft as he drew the skin at the base of her neck into his mouth, pulling firmly, releasing it in time to capture her cries of pleasure when she began to shudder from the intensity of her orgasm. Not until she'd quieted did his lips leave hers, so he could bury his face in the crook of her shoulder, muffling the calls of her name, as he thrust as deep within her as he could, his body tensing as he came. His mouth sought out hers again in the aftermath while her fingers raked through his hair.

It was with great reluctance that they separated, him easing her to the floor and holding on until she found her footing. Grasping her face in the palms of his hands, he lifted her chin so he could taste, nibble, savor her lips again. They couldn't help their quiet laughs when their eyes caught their images in the mirror: her, completely nude save for the skirt rumpled around her waist and a pair of stockings, him with his shirt hanging off his shoulders, and, unseen, his pants and briefs tangled around his ankles. Quickly cleaning up, they helped one another right their clothing, and in short order, they appeared as they had before their rendezvous, save for some unavoidable wrinkles.

"Wait for a minute or so before you leave," she told him quietly. "That should give me enough time to slip into the store room for a few supplies." She reached for the handle of the door, only to find his hand pressing against it, keeping her from opening it. Stepping into her, he cupped the back of her neck, drawing her lips to his again. The kiss was as tender as the prior had been voracious, and he lingered endlessly, his way, she knew of conveying to her they may have just indulged in a quick shag but it was never _just_ a shag, not between them. She brushed her lips against his cheek when the kiss ended.

"I've got to go," she told him quietly, pressing up on her tip toes for one last, glancing kiss. Then she slipped out the door.

Sally found her a minute later, seemingly having searched her out. Laura looked up from where she was stooped down, removing two bottles of club soda from a cabinet, then stood and reached into the cooler for a bottle of Rose.

"We're almost out," she offered, before exiting the small room and returning to the galley on the other side of the plane.

As far as she could ascertain, no one was any the wiser to her disappearance, and frankly, she didn't care if they were.


	3. Chapter 3: Reconnect

Chapter 3: Reconnect

On Thursday evening, Remington dawdled on his climb up the three flights of stairs to Laura's loft, more than a bit nervous about what the evening ahead held in store. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that their interlude in the plane's restroom or even the successful resolution of the case, had resolved the matters between them. The poor little nebbish, Marvin, had been dispatched when it was made clear a choice had to be made: Mildred or him. There was never a choice at all. At the end of the day, Mildred was far more than just their secretary, she was family. Family that had him nailed to the wall and knew it, and he suspected he'd be called on the carpet this evening for the guarantees she'd managed to extract from him. He wasn't ashamed to admit he'd both hoped and prayed, Laura had decided to leave the issues swept under the proverbial rug, but hadn't been at all surprised when she'd announced earlier in the afternoon that she'd had time to think and they needed to 'talk.'

Seldom, in his experience, was the phrase 'time to think' synonymous with anything good. The last time she'd used the phrase, in fact, he'd been left completely gutted.

* * *

" _ **Not having it has given me**_ _ **time to think**_ _ **."**_

 _ **"About what?"**_

 _ **"Is that piece of paper the only thing that's keeping us together? Do we really have anything else in common besides this agency?"**_

 _ **"Laura, if you're talking about my allergy to legwork-"**_

 _ **"No, it's got nothing to do with that. Don't you see? I mean, losing our license may be the very best thing that ever happened to us. Maybe it'll give us**_ _ **time to think**_ _ **about how we really feel towards each other…"**_

* * *

Pausing at her door, he took a long minute to worry a thumbnail, before plastering what he hoped appeared to be a casual smile on his face and rapping on her door. She pulled the door open in short order.

"Come in," she offered, giving him a faint smile as he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek in greeting. As she pulled the door closed, he allowed his eyes to roam over her, taking some comfort in how she was dressed: White jeans, black silk shell, hair back in a French braid. In the past, whether it was a conscious choice or not, she'd dressed to kill when giving him the axe. _And killed she had,_ he couldn't help but recall.

She indicated the coffee table with a wave of her hand where two wine glasses stood along with a decent vintage of chardonnay. _At least it isn't tea…_

"Would you care to do the honors?" she asked, easily noting the tension in his frame and the nervous tick in his jaw. She quickly and accurately surmised the reason.

"Of course," he agreed, flashing her another of the strained smiles with which he'd greeted her. She considered, briefly, letting him dangle but in the end realized it would do little good. She wanted them to move forward, to recapture the intimacy, the openness they'd had not even a week ago. Then, she would have stepped to him and assured him all would be fine. Now? She felt like they'd taken so many steps backwards in only a couple of days' time, she was uncertain of how such boldness would be received. So, instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked towards the ceiling, possibly hoping the answers were there, which, of course, they weren't.

And, in the end, she let instinct drive her next actions. She stepped to him as he picked up the bottle of wine, and grasping his hips, lay her forehead against his chest. He'd been caught unaware, as she'd intended, and as such, hadn't an opportunity to devise a guise to cover what he was feeling. The hand holding the bottle of wine dropped to his side, while his other hand cupped the back of her neck as he let out a long breath of air.

"I'm just trying to understand why, nothing more," she told him, looking up at him. He didn't have to ask her what she meant. He'd had, after all, two long, lonely nights to think about it. He nodded, then stepping away from her, sat the bottle of wine back on the table, and turned to pace several steps away, before raising a hand and dropping it.

"I didn't purposefully set out to deceive you, Laura. This is not like Daniel, or Cannes, or any number of other times I've abused your trust." He turned to face her, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, only to find her shaking her head at him.

"Deceive is not quite the word I'd use," she told him hesitantly. "Doing an end run around me would be more accurate, and I don't understand why. I thought we had an understanding: no more games."

"Understanding. An interesting choice of words, as if I were honest, and I'm trying to be, I'd have to say that's likely exactly the reason for the why of it all." Her brows furrowed, not understanding.

"Care to elaborate?" The words sounded snarkier than she'd intended them to be but she let them stand.

"I was approached about giving a couple of guest lectures at USC shortly after we'd wrapped up the Crunch Kramer case," he explained, as he began to pace between kitchen and living room. "I was still, irritated, as it were, having realized our decision… _our understanding…_ that from here on out we'd have a true partnership was not as it seemed. That when push came to shove, nothing had really changed at all."

"How can you even say that?" she demanded to know, offended by the implication she'd been less than honest in that agreement.

"How can I….?" he gave a short laugh. "How can _you_ question how I can say that? You _do_ recall how we came to take on that particular case, don't you?"

* * *

" _ **Laura, are you aware I've already turned Mr. Kramer down?"**_

 _ **"You what?"**_

 _ **"Two days ago. You can still see his shoe prints in the carpet. Ask Mildred."**_

 _ **"Ok Millie. Front and center."**_

 _ **"I know this case has been rejected, but I think Crunch really needs our help. I had to go to the boss for a second opinion," Mildred explained.**_

 _ **"The boss has spoken, Mildred," Remington interjected.**_

 _ **"She means me and she has a point," Laura noted.**_

 _ **"I thought we had a partnership?"**_

 _ **"We do. But it remains**_ _ **my**_ _ **agency and I have to be involved in all major decisions. Now I think that Mildred may be right in this case. Crunch appears to be on the level. So, if you'll excuse me."**_

* * *

"It is _my Agency_ ," she defended.

" _Exactly my point_ ," he retorted, voice rising. "There's no equality, nothing's changed. It's still the same as it ever was, your words that day nearly echoing those in Cannes a year before!"

* * *

" _ **Where was I?"**_

 _ **"I think it was something to the effect that I can't get it through my head that… "**_

 _ **"I count in all this!"**_

 _ **"Laura, I wanted to include you but I couldn't because I knew damn well how you'd react. My friend needed help and he needed it fast."**_

 _ **"Well and you've done a great job. With any luck, we can stay alive and out of jail for at least another hour or two."**_

 _ **"Wait a minute. That's not the point. This partnership you keep trumpeting has a rather lopsided lean to it. I couldn't come to you in my hour of need because I knew that if you disagreed, there would be no room, no room whatsoever for discussion. That's a partnership? How do you think that makes me feel?"**_

 _ **"But it's**_ _ **my Agency**_ _ **!"**_

* * *

"Even worse," he continued, "You 'put me in my place' in front of Mildred… who'd already circumvented my _alleged_ authority by going to you in the first place, might I point out!"

"So to… what?... retaliate?... you decided to guest lecture at USC?" she posited. He drew a hand through his hair at the question.

"I don't know, to be honest. It's not as though I've not been entrusted dozens of times in the past to give similar speeches, and even now, unless I'm mistaken, don't you have me scheduled to do precisely that two months hence as the keynote speaker at the East-West Convention?" He blew out a long, frustrated breath. "But did I agree to those lectures, because I had a point to prove? I can't say it didn't play a part, although it wasn't the _only_ reason."

"And hiring an intern without even discussing it with me? Was that also another point you needed to prove?" she wanted to know, as she unconsciously lifted her fingers to a knead her brow.

"While I'd like to say it was only because no one was inclined to give the lad a chance or because I believed he might have something to offer the Agency, both of which are true, I can't deny there were, perhaps, more… selfish reasons… also at play," he conceded.

"Such as your dry cleaning, tickets to the opera, scheduling your hair appointments-" she listed as she began building up steam.

"No!" he cut in wearily. "Although they were nice perks once I came to realize…" He let the thought trail off. "It was that I'd have at least one person in the office again who didn't constantly gaze on me with that veiled look of suspicion in their eyes," he told her truthfully, rubbing at his mouth and turning away. The admission halted her anger in its tracks.

"Mildred adores you, Mr. Steele," she contradicted.

"Adored. Past tense. Ever since she's learned the truth, I'm nothing but a thief and conman in her eyes now. She's made that clear enough. Bloody hell, in her estimation, she's more qualified than I for my job." He sat down heavily on the couch and held up his hands watching her pace now.

"Is that why you treated me like you did on the plane? You blame me for telling Mildred?" she wondered. He laughed dryly.

"No, I imagine that was a bit of tit-for-tat," he grimaced. "You'd unilaterally dismissed my attempts to speak to you about the young Slottman, then, to add insult to injury, ordered me about like a lad in knickers. Both sore points for myself as is being treated…" he bobbled his head "…like less than an equal is for you." She nodded slowly as she sat down on the opposite end of the couch.

"You had a point to prove," she summarized definitively. He barked a laugh at that, drawing her gaze.

"I wouldn't credit me as having given it that much thought," he corrected, giving her a rueful look. "Impetuous churlishness, at best." Leaning over, she poured them each a glass of wine and handed one to him.

"I suppose," she drew out the second word thoughtfully, as she curled up in the corner of the couch, "The same could be said about myself, when I told Mildred about your past in London. I didn't think it through, or I would have realized the damage it would do," she admitted. Then straightening, looked him in the eyes. "I'll speak to Mildred, make it clear—"

"Don't bother," he told her, waving a hand at her for her to stop. Leaning back against the couch, he propped his feet on the coffee table. "You can't take back what she knows or how she feels about it, Laura. But a little solidarity would go a long way towards showing her you and I _are_ a team, regardless of my past." She nodded slowly, before standing, and sitting down again next to him.

"We _are_ a team, Remington. I know there are times it may appear to you that I don't recognize that, but I do. Not in spite of your past, maybe in large part because of it," she mulled. His arm dropped around her shoulders without thought and she shifted imperceptibly closer to him in response.

"Oh, how's that?" he asked.

"The skills you honed in those days, the instincts you developed? They're an invaluable asset to our partnership, especially when combined with your natural intelligence. It's all of you and your experiences that make you the investigator you are." The corners of his mouth lifted at the unexpected compliments. "Then there's the other…" she trailed off, intentionally seeking to arouse his innate curiosity.

"The other?" She suppressed her smile.

"I know who you are now and who you were then. I've watched you change… choose to change… and it was rarely easy. I meant what I said to you last week." She needn't explain what she meant, for the words had been the most meaningful words ever spoken of him in his life.

* * *

" _ **Thanks."**_

" _ **What for?"**_

" _ **For saving my life this afternoon. For being here… For being you."**_

* * *

She caressed his chest, drawing him away from the memory. He looked down at her uplifted face.

"I happen to hold you in high regard, Mr. Steele." A smile lifted his lips in a crooked grin and lit his blue eyes. But, when he leaned in to touch his lips to hers, he found her leaning away. "This," she flicked her hand between the two of them, "Means a lot to me and I think it does to you, too."

"You know it does," he told her, palming her cheek.

"Then we can't let what happened this week happen again," she remarked. "I'll give you my word to fully take into account your thoughts, your opinions on anything that might come up, but you need to give me _your_ word not to resort to the old… habits… that made it so hard for me to trust you." He looked at her solemnly.

"Done," he promised, then leaned in again, only to find a hand holding him back still.

"And if you _ever_ treat me again like you did while we were undercover, I won't be held responsible for my actions," she warned.

"Nor will I blame you," he agreed, raising his brows while his face remained serious. "I assure you, should we find ourselves in such roles again, I'll merely content myself with admiring how a little tutu like that skirt shows off your knock-out legs…" he kissed her, "…the delightful curve or your bottom…" then again, "…the glorious twitch of your hips as you walk…" and again, as she laughed beneath his lips.

"You're incorrigible," she scolded between kisses.

"You wouldn't happen to have that absurdly titillating little outfit still laying about would you?" he asked, his lips leaving hers to peer around the loft in search of it.

"I might," she drawled suggestively, as she lay back and drew him down to stretch out over top of her. She raked her hand through his hair before settling it at the back of his neck to toy with his hair. "Be careful what you ask for, Remington. You have your fantasies, but I, too, have mine." He leaned back down to bestow a tantalizing kiss upon her lips.

"I'm game if you are," he murmured, before settling his mouth fully over hers.

* * *

On Friday evening, Remington arrived at Laura's loft with his garment bag slung over his shoulder. He eyed her with open curiosity when she pulled open the door and stood before him in a gold leotard trimmed in black and red, with a pair of red tights.

"A night in, then, I wager?" he guessed, his feet stuttering to a stop when he saw the trapezes they'd used two year prior when they gone undercover at Cordero's Fabulous Fun Time Circus had been reinstalled and hung from the rafters above. "A case?"

"You'll find your clothes waiting for you in the bathroom," she told him, pressing herself up on her toes, and giving him a steamy little kiss. "Tonight, one of my fantasies… Tomorrow night, one of yours…" She nodded towards her stewardess uniform, replete with little cap, hanging off the railing to her bedroom. He swallowed hard, even as he felt his blood surge. He looked to one of the trapezes with some skepticism.

"Do you imagine us _up_ to the task at hand?" he wondered. She drew a hand down his front before relieving him of his garment bag.

"You know what they say, Mr. Steele. "Where there's a will…'"

"'There's a way," he finished, his eyes lighting up with all the possibilities.

"Go get dressed," she suggested, with a lift of her brows and a daring smile.

"One order I'll gladly follow, Miss Holt," he grinned, crossing the room to the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

His laughter filtered through the loft when he opened the bag which hung there and found the red, sleeveless, long legged unitard, complete with gold belt, that he'd worn during their stint as trapeze artists.

"Mmmm," he hummed, as he began stripping off his shirt. "You know me too well, love. I never could resist an impossible challenge."


End file.
